


A Tale of Two Trollhunters

by ChromaticDreams



Series: The Twin Trollhunters [1]
Category: Gravity Falls, Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Brotherly Affection, Drabble Collection, Gen, Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, blinky for stan and ford's honorary dad, more characters to be added- these are who i know for sure will show up early on, this is a fusion crossover- stan is the trollhunter, well of a sort- the story will jump around a bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-04-25 01:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14368347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromaticDreams/pseuds/ChromaticDreams
Summary: Glass Shard Beach, 1967. When the trollhunter Kanjigar perishes years before he was supposed to, the amulet of daylight finds its next champion in a seventeen year old Stanley Pines. Now essential in the destiny of both the trolls' subterranean world and the human one above, Stan, along with his twin brother and best friend, must fight to protect both worlds from the dark forces creeping in at the edges.But destiny has a way of being unpredictable.





	1. Becoming

It all started a lifetime ago... in a place called Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. The beachside town’s name preceded its reputation, its shorelines covered in the razor sharp, glittering remains of broken beer bottles. Scattered among the glass, a diligent child might occasionally find a shard of quartz or another translucent mineral, but regardless it’s recommended that one doesn’t romp along the shore barefooted, least they slice the bottoms of their feet raw.  
  
This was the warning delivered to a young Stanley Pines every time he and his twin brother left their apartment to spend the day at the beach. Predictably, he ignored his mother’s words entirely. He liked feeling the rough gristle of sand between his toes, and a little glass wasn’t about to scare him away from that pleasure. Since, wasn’t glass just superheated crushed rock anyways? He wiggled his bare toes in the wet sand, watching as the horizon over the ocean became darker and darker, the sun setting behind him.   
  
“Hey Stan, come here,” his brother called, waving at him from the underside of the docks, right where they jutted out from the busy boardwalk. “Have you seen this?”   
  
He pulled himself to his feet with a grunt, and traversed the perilous dunes with a studied precision, nimbly hopping from one safe spot to the next. Tonight he hadn’t stepped on any glass at all, at least not yet. Finally, he reached his brother, who stood next to a large pile of rubble. Rubble. Oh boy, he knew where this conversation was going. He crossed his arms, feeling a chuckle bubbling up inside him.   
  
“That’s a pile of rocks,” he stated glibly, watching his brother’s face closely.   
  
“Yes, and there’s markings, perhaps even runes on them,” Ford exclaimed, picking up a chunk of rock and running his fingers across its smooth surface.   
  
“Ford, come on, I know you like your spooky conspiracy theories and everythin’, but,” he said with a heavy sigh, picking up a split piece and bouncing it in the palm of his hand, “we all know there’s no such thing as rock people.”   
  
His twin shook his head, winds of denial stirring around him in the air. He knelt next to the odd crumbled formation, squinting at the rubble through thick lenses. He splayed his fingers, all six, across an unusually smooth section of the rock, and deep down Stan knew this was indeed why Ford found himself so invested in the theory of unusual creatures and anomalies in the first place.   
  
“No, no, no, look, really look at the curvature of this,” he said. “It looks like part of a shoulder. It’s buffed too smooth to be a mere coincidence of nature.”   
  
“Okay, so,” Stan shrugged, “maybe it’s just a statue, y’know? Somethin’ from town. Kids steal stuff and smash it on the beach all the time.”   
  
Ford rose to his feet, desperation reflected in the width of his eyes. He held the broad shoulder piece to his chest, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I know what I saw this morning, Stan! There were two of them, fighting near these docks-“   
  
“And I’m tellin’ ya’, it was still pretty dark. I’m sure what you saw was just two large guys duking it out, all right?”   
  
Stan grabbed the edge of the dock, used a stray nail sticking out of the post as a foothold, and boosted himself up. He swung his other leg onto the wooden deck. “Listen, Sixer, I think your theories are real interesting, okay? They’d make really good stories, I honestly think that.” With a grunt, he used his hands to push his full body weight onto the dock, letting out a breath of relief when he was settled. “But you can’t just yell it to everyone you see, else they all gonna think you’re crazy.”   
  
He offered a hand to his brother. With a huff Ford declined, opting to climb up the stairs a few feet to their left. When he met up with Stan on the dock, the teen was cradling his foot, prodding at callused skin.   
  
“Youch,” he muttered, and as he took his finger away Ford could see a small spot of blood. “Should’ve known the nail was a bad idea. Welp, I’ll patch it up when we get home. You ready?”   
  
Ford nodded, still carrying the chunk of rock. “I’m not crazy,” he said quietly, taking one last glance at the stony formation on the shore. “I know I’m not crazy.”   
  
____

  
  
“Hey, Dad,” Stan greeted with a hesitant grin as he edged through the side door of the pawn shop. “Just, uh- just gettin’ a bandaid, so-“  
  
“Haven’t we warned you about walking over the glass without shoes?” he father muttered, surely leveling him the look from behind his tinted glasses.  
  
“Yeah, well it wasn’t glass this time, it was a nail on the docks,” he said, opening the nearest drawer and rummaging through its contents.  
  
“Don’t be a smart ass. You know what we mean.” His dad picked up a weathered cardboard box from the floor, filled to the brim with old artifacts and jewelry. The shelves were bare, items carefully placed on a side table. He must be taking time to organize and dust the pawn shop, which he only really did when he obtained something special and new.  
  
Stan found the box of bandages, and unwrapped one for his foot. “D’ya get anything cool in today? Anything worth a buck?” he asked, plastering it over his wound.  
  
“Actually, yes,” his dad nodded, and walked over to the table of goods. His hand wrapped around a circular object, a metallic disk. “Someone came by and sold this just this morning. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, or the kind of symbols written along the side.”  
  
Stan squinted at the writing on the disk his father displayed to him. “Is that some sorta... Russian?”   
  
“Cyrillic, son,” he corrected him with a frown. “And no. I’ve appraised enough old family heirlooms to recognize most forms of writing. I don’t recognize this at all. In that case, it might be an artifact rare enough to actually be worth something.”  
  
“Huh,” Stan muttered, appraising the object himself. It was fashioned from a shiny, blemish-less metal, with the unknown script carved all the way along the rim. Some sort of shimmering blue crystal was inset in the middle, along with a series of metal dials and rings. It reminded him a little of the gears in his great aunt’s grandfather clock. The blue crystal softly glowed as he grasped it in his palm.  
  
“ _Stanley Pines,”_ a gruff, commanding voice whispered.  
  
“Yeah, Dad?” he asked, swinging around.   
  
His father blinked in confusion. “I- didn’t say anything.”  
  
“But, you called my name? I just heard you.”  
  
“Wasn’t me,” he shrugged, pulling down the brim of his hat. “Perhaps it was your mother. In fact, go bother her instead, Stan. I’ve got work to take care of before I close.”  
  
“Fine,” he said hollowly, retreating up the steps and into the apartment. He kicked at the doorpost, bottom lip jutted out. He saw how it was. After all, it’s not like his father was particularly affectionate or agreeable in manner. Least, not with him. Now seventeen years old, Stan sometimes feared his dad would never see him as anything else than a directionless bum.  
  
And the worst part? Maybe he was right.  
  
____  
  
  
Stan lay in his bed buried in the folds of his blanket, back ramrod straight. On this fateful night, he straddled that dreadful line between complete exhaustion and yet inability to rest. The reasoning? Far too much was on his mind- from his conversation by the docks with Ford earlier, to the date he had later this week with Carla, to his father’s hurtful dismissal, and now…  
  
“ _Stanley... Stanley Pines...”_ _  
_  
That weird glowy amulet thing.  
Stan pressed his hands flush against his face, and groaned in frustration. Oh, who was he kidding? There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight. At least, not with that creepy, low voice constantly calling out his name. He rolled over, further tangling himself in his sea of blankets until he was comfortable, and drank in the sound of his brother’s quiet snoring from the bunk above.    
  
“ _Stanley Pines...”_ _  
_  
A strange sense of connection- of belonging- strummed in his heart like the discovery of a harmonious chord. No matter what distractions he fed himself all he could think about was that amulet, about its warmth when he held it yesterday evening, its blue, pulsing glow. Somehow it felt as if... something within it was reaching out towards him, electrifying his nerves and latching onto his very core of being. He scratched at his armpit. The thought made him kinda itchy, to be honest. What on earth was he even thinking? Was this the first sign he’d truly and finally cracked? Or perhaps it was just the memory of Ford’s fairytales eating away at his mind, siphoning his imagination, making him see and feel things that couldn’t truly exist.  
  
“ _Stanley Pines!”_ the call tugged at him.  
  
“Okay, okay, I’m listening!” he hissed under his breath. “What d’ya want?”  
  
Stan knew what it wanted. Or at least, he knew what he wanted, deep down. He could practically see its location, down to the very space on the shelf Dad had relocated it to last night. He felt driven to... to hold it. He breathed in deeply.  
  
“What’s gotten into you, Stan?” he muttered to himself, wrestling his way out of his soft cottony bindings.  Finally free, he swung his feet to the floor and stood up.   
  
The bed posts creaked at his movement. He froze, holding his breath. His heart thrummed a warrior’s beat in his chest. Seconds of his life stretched into centuries. His brother didn’t wake, however- instead merely letting out a sleepy sigh and rolling over. Relief filled his chest.  
  
Taking the edges of the floorboards to avoid the particularly squeaky sections, Stan crept through the apartment, swiping the key to the pawn shop off the kitchen counter. This was perhaps the stupidest thing he’d ever done. If Dad found out he’d been in the shop at three in the morning he’d whoop at his ass, but- he had to know. He couldn’t bear the thought of lying still another moment without understanding what this amulet was, and why it called to him so fervently. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked the door to the shop. He wrapped his palm around the knob, twisted it. The rusty hinge gave a sour note, Stan cringing as he pushed the door ajar.  
  
His line of sight immediately locked on the amulet located across the room, glowing blue with a vibrant intensity.   
  
“ _Stanley Pines,_ ” the voice said once more, this time almost in greeting.  
  
“Okay, geeze, I’m here,” he huffed, pacing across the pawn shop to the far shelf where the disk perched on its stand. Standing on his tiptoes, he wrapped his fingers around the amulet and pulled it off the shelf. Its glow pulsed as he came into contact.  
  
He gently rubbed his finger against the metal, peering at the strange object. What was the point of all this? What did it want?  
  
“You’re crazy,” he whispered to himself, clutching the thing in clammy fingers. “You’ve officially lost it, congrats.   
  
____  
  
  
The teen took the strange amulet to the beach so he could puzzle over it in privacy, without worrying about his dad waking up. He lay relaxed on the deck of Ford and his’ boat, the one they’d been refurbishing over the last five or so years with their spare pocket cash. Dawn was fast approaching. The sun lapped at the edge of the horizon, beginning to overpower and diminish the pinpricked light of the stars. A gentle ocean breeze dusted his cheeks.  
  
“What are you?” he muttered, turning the amulet in his hands.  
  
Suddenly, the strange runic writing around the rim flickered, changing to what he recognized as Chinese characters. His eyes widened. It changed again to a few other written scripts, before eventually settling in English. As dumb as it sounded, magic or aliens were the only rational explanations he could think of to explain the amulet’s behavior. Well then, maybe some of Ford’s kooky theories were closer to the truth than he originally gave him credit for. He peered closely at the readable script around the edge of the casing.  
  
“For the glory of Merlin,” he read to himself quietly, brow furrowing, “daylight is mine to command.”  
  
All was still for a moment. The winds ceased. The first direct rays of sun broke out over the horizon, framing Stan’s features in tones of red and gold. Then, some glowing spherical body shot out of the disk, startling him to attention. He shot to his feet, holding the amulet up to the sun so he could see what on earth was going on. His hand nearly shook, current mood locked somewhere on the spectrum between slack faced shock and curiosity fueled exhilaration. After all, what was one supposed to feel when some glowing blue speck- yes, that’s what he’d refer to it as from now on- decided to float through his chest, making its home within him? He gasped at the intrusion, splaying his hand over his heart where they entered. Another slurry of glowing specks released themselves from the amulet, and suddenly Stan found his toes leaving the deck.  
  
Whatever exclamation he felt compelled to make as this strange magic pulled him skyward was lost in the confusion of what happened next. Silver metal materialized in the air around his limbs, fashioning itself into armor. He hung there a moment longer in the wake of iridescent blue, sections of armor weaving into solid plates and gauntlets around him. The amulet floated out of his hand and fastened into place over his heart. Then just as quickly as he was lifted, his rebellion against gravity ended and Stan fell back to deck. He stumbled backwards, trying not to tip over from the imbalance of the bulky armor.   
  
Just as he was about to question the ungainly size of this armor’s chest-plate, (not to mention the existence of this armor in the first place), the amulet’s crystal pulsed brightly, and the armor shrank to fit his body.  
  
“Holy _shit,”_ he exclaimed, holding his arms out to admire the intricate decorative grooves carved into the arm brace and wrist guard. He flexed his fingers, clinking the metal fingertips together. This was... this was wild. Unbelievable, really. Man, Ford was going to flip when he showed him what he found!  
  
His palm glowed a dazzling white, and from this point grew- as if fashioned from the very morning light he was illuminated by- the hilt and blade of a long, mighty sword. His jaw dropped. This was literally the coolest thing that’s ever happened to him, better than winning the boxing class final match, or even when he and Ford found the bones of their ship as kids. It was the likes of which a younger him might have daydreamed about. His lips stretched into a grin. Paired with an experimental lunge in his armor, he tried to swing his new weapon.   
  
Unfortunately however, the sword was far, far, too heavy. Stanley grimaced, wrapping his other hand around the hilt to try and stabilize it. There always had to be a catch to these wish fulfillment sort of things, didn’t there? Or maybe the last guy to use this magic-y object was just a pretty bulky, strong guy.   
  
“Come on, shrink like the rest of it,” he begged quietly, scraping the point against the wood.   
  
Either his words were well timed, or the whole warrior’s ensemble listened to his very desire, because the sword did just that. He held it up to the air, finding his grinning reflection in the polished surface. Confidently, he gave the blade a wide test swing...  
  
...and promptly lodged it into the mast.  
  
“Whoops,” he said sheepishly.   
  
  
____  
  
  
In the far distance, a tall, six-eyed figure watched intently from the mouth of a cave. He witnessed everything, from the moment the boy took the amulet from the shop, to when he read the inscription and successfully activated it for the first time. There was no doubt about it- the amulet didn’t make mistakes. It belonged to the boy now.  
  
He nervously clasped both sets of hands together, determining what actions he might take next.   
  
“By Deya’s grace,” the troll exclaimed, peering towards the wide world beyond the shadows. “The next trollhunter... is a human!”


	2. Daylight

Stan awoke to a soggy pillow, soaked in drool. His nose and mouth scrunched up in disgust as he wiped the slime off of his cheek. Already sensing from the dull throb behind his eyes that today would be more exhausting than usual, he dragged himself out from under the covers. He yawned, taking inventory of his surroundings. Ford was already halfway down the road to alertness and readying himself for the day, rummaging through his drawer for a clean pair of socks. Outside their window, he heard his dad shouting, the reason already explicitly clear to him. His brows threaded together, fingers fidgeting at the hem of his boxers. Aw shit, the man sounded pretty pissed off...  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“What? Uh-“ He flinched at the sudden address, Ford’s concerned expression focusing into view. Good grief, it was just his brother, just good ol’ Ford, nothing to bolt out of the room like Carla’s neurotic dachshund over. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, grabbing a pair of jeans off the top of a pile of clothes he’d scattered on the carpet by his bed. He gave them a sniff, and satisfied that they couldn’t stand up on their own, slipped them on. “Just had a really weird dream...”  
  
Images flowed through his still-waking mind, of iridescent blue and runic shapes. His journey to the beach at dawn, reading the text on the side of the amulet... the armor, the sword. It all seemed so unimaginable in hindsight, but the longer he was awake the more details he realized lined up pristinely with those foggy memories. He recalled hiding the amulet under his pillow when he finally returned to his room, and lo and behold it was still there. Granules of sand dusted his sheets, tracked in from the beach. Normally he’d wash his feet off before entering the apartment but this morning he failed to do so. And his father’s obvious anger this morning was proof that he indeed- as feared- impulsively shattered one of the pawn shop windows with a rock to make it appear as if a thief had entered in the early hours. None of it was a dream after all. However, he’d only know for sure once he got time alone to read those magic words again.  
  
“Good weird or bad weird?” Ford asked, tugging on his sneakers.  
  
“Eh, I dunno. It’s all too fuzzy,” he said with a shrug, and slipped the amulet into his backpack when his brother was turned. “But probably no weirder than anythin’ your brain comes up with, yeah?”  
  
He grinned, playfully elbowing him. Ford gave him _that look_ he was so often at the receiving end of, complete with a single tilted eyebrow. Obviously he was not awake enough yet to enjoy some innocent brotherly pestering. A shame, really. He had a lot of quality material piling up.  
  
“ _Actually,”_ his twin said, pulling his bloated knapsack over his shoulders, “I haven’t remembered any of my dreams in much detail for a few years. So I can neither confirm or deny how weird my dreams may or may not be.”  
  
“Or what if- oh my god, what if all you dream about is boring everyday stuff, like reading, or eating a sandwich or taking a test?” he laughed. “But you’d never know because you can’t remember!”  
  
“Well, at least the subject of my dreams is actually mysterious, and I don’t talk in my sleep,” he quipped back, glancing pointedly at a spot somewhere behind him. Stan followed the path of his eyes to the polaroid of Carla pinned to the wall, and flushed a deep red.  
  
“S- shut up!”  
  
Ford grinned deviously. “Tell that to yourself.”  
  
  
____

  
  
Stan exited through the pawn shop, locking the door behind him. Not that it helped much, with one of the front windows shattered to fragments. He cringed at the sight of glass scattered across the sidewalk, his father standing above the mess as he spoke with the local police. _Uh-oh_. Police becoming involved in this mess couldn’t pan out well. Damn, he wished he had more time to think through a plan before doing the first idiotic, impulsive thing his dumb mind could come up with. All he knew at the time was that he needed a way to keep the amulet without his dad knowing, which meant he couldn’t merely take it. If it went missing without a ruckus, he was sure he’d be _suspect numero uno_. But if it looked like an unrelated criminal broke in and stole it... he might have a chance to get away scot-free.  
  
So yes, he threw the rock. So sue him. The only trick to the plan now was convincing his father that he knew nothing about this. He yanked his worn backpack straps further up his shoulders, and walked towards him.  
  
“I see you’re finally up,” his dad greeted, as the police officer returned to their car. “Ford left for school fifteen minutes ago.”  
  
“Yeah, uh- what happened here?” he asked, feigning (what he hoped could be taken as) shock.  
  
“Some cretin threw a rock through the window while we were sleeping and stole that piece I showed you,” his dad huffed, crossing his arms. “There’s no sign of it, or any potential suspects.”  
  
“Geeze, that really sucks ass.”  
  
“Indeed it does,” he muttered, lightly kicking at a pile of glass with the toe of his shoe. “And it’s gonna ‘suck ass,’ as you so delicately put it, for _all_ of us- repairs like this aren’t within our month’s budget. Hope you like rice, beans, and canned soup, son, because seems we’ll be having a lot of it.”  
  
“Aw, man. Is there anything I can help with?” Stan asked, scratching at his neck.  
  
His father crossed his arms and turned to appraise the damage once more. “I could use your eyes,” he admitted softly. “You’re the only person besides me who actually saw what it looks like. If you see that amulet, or anything suspicious around town, you let me know.”  
  
“I can do that,” Stan said with a nod. And it wasn’t entirely a lie, either- he’d definitely be keeping watch for any more strange occurrences after what happened early this morning. The catch was, he didn’t plan on ever telling Dad. He clasped his hands together. “Welp, I’m off to school. See you tonight.”  
  
The man merely hummed in response, and returned to scowling at the damage suffered by the pawn shop.  
  
  
____

  
  
“For the glory of Merlin, daylight is mine to command,” he recited in a whisper, concealed from bystanders’ sight in the shadows of a back alley.  
  
With a pulse of light from the amulet, his feet lifted off the ground exactly like they had before. The armor materialized around him, and the grooves glowed blue for a second as he unceremoniously dropped to the ground, stumbling a little with the sudden added weight. He grinned, flexing his fingers.  
  
_Very much_ not a dream.  
  
  
____

  
  
“Are you okay?” Carla asked, leaning against the wall. She combed her fingers through her long curly hair, body language spiked with worry.  
  
“Yeah, ‘m fine,” he said as he unceremoniously dumped his notebooks in his locker. He fished through the crumpled papers in his backpack in search of his half-finished math homework, sneaking a glance at the amulet secured in one of the inner pockets. “Why does everyone keep askin’ me that today?”  
  
“Oh, I dunno, maybe ‘cause you look like you haven’t slept a wink in days?” she pointed out with a playful smile, and bumped his arm with her elbow. He eagerly leaned into her touch. They hadn’t seen each other since Friday, an unfathomable length of separation which in the world of teen romance might as well be a lifetime.

“Just had a rough night. I’ll be okay, babe.”

Her face dawned with realization. “ _Oh_ , is this about your family’s shop?” she said under her breath, carefully watching those passing by. “I saw it when I walked here. God, I’m so sorry you're havin' to deal with all that!”

“Naw, it’ll be fine,” he said, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “It’s just a busted window, an’ hey, at least they barely even stole anythin’!” The final bell rang, gracefully interrupting his train of thought. Teens still loitering in the halls broke into sprint. Poor suckers, vying to reach their classes before teachers marked them tardy. As much as he’d love to avoid sitting in class for another excruciatingly long period, he knew far too well that he better follow their lead and dash as well. After all his offenses this term, Ms. Morgan had become annoyingly adept at catching him in the act of sneaking to his desk late.

“Go run, I’ll see ya’ at lunch,” he said with fondness, and kissed her cheek. 

Carla’s lips turned up slightly. “See ya’,” she wished, but seeming a little emotionally distracted herself. She retrieved her own bag from the ground and joined the flow of other students running down the hall.

Stan smiled dreamily as he watched her, daydreaming about the proper kiss he'd have to give her later today when they both weren't so frazzled. Slamming his locker shut, he began the long march to Room 198 in the other wing of the school. He slowed down as he passed the first water fountain. Eh, procrastination at his locker already doomed him as tragically late- why bother running? It’s not like he cared about school _that_ much. And so as the time passed ten o’ five he found himself entirely alone in the halls, excluding the hypnotizing ticking of the clocks.

Before he knew it the tempo of his march lined up with the timepiece’s.

The teen passed an empty classroom, and screeched to a stop faster than a crash test dummy flung mercilessly against a barricade. The hairs at the nape of his neck prickled with fiery intensity. He could swear he felt someone’s eyes locked onto him from within, from deep in the shadows. Feet propelled him at a crawl, and he slid flush against the door frame, wishing more than anything the amulet was in his hand now and not buried in between crumpled week old assignments. He closed his eyes, focusing on the rhythm pounding in his chest, focusing on what was real… what was tangible. Biting down restraint, he peered through the open doorway…

And saw absolutely no one.

Nothing but empty desks and half-erased blackboards. Not a soul stood in here. God, no one was _spying_ on him. It was nothing but his overstimulated imagination, working overtime ever since he found that weird magical amulet.

“You dolt,” he scolded himself. “Gettin’ worse then your own twin.”

 _Go to class,_ his subconscious nudged him, and suddenly nothing else in the world sounded better. _Go to class and forget about all this nonsense for a moment, Stan. It’s nothing._

 _It’s nothing._  

 

____

 

He kicked a stray rock on the beach as he crossed the wind swept sand later that evening, wearing shoes for once. _Ma would be proud,_ he thought, stifling laughter. His destination- the Stan O’ War- stood regally a few miles down shore, sail stretched tall and proud but tied off on the mast so the wind couldn’t catch it. Ford planned to meet him there soon, and then he’d whisk him into the caves to show the amulet in secret. That was his full plan, at least. First, one particular spot by the docks called intensely for a visit.

The mound of rubble acted as a significant enough landmark that he spotted it a fair distance away. His pace quickened, no longer paying any heed to avoiding piles of broken glass. Breath heavy as he came alongside it, he sat down next to the shattered stone. When his brother showed him this yesterday, feeding him theories about rock monsters, he’d scoffed at him. Back then he’d seen it as Ford bein’ Ford: comin’ up with wild conspiracy theories and desperately vying to find something out of the ordinary to prove he had a place in this world. He always understood why his bro felt so attracted to theories like that, but all the same he feared encouraging them, because what if others judged him even more for it? Ford was bullied enough already, he didn’t need a larger target on his back. Now, however- he slipped the amulet from his back pocket, holding it tightly in his palm- he imagined it’d be silly not to listen to him at least a _little_.

With the recent confirmation of the existence of magic, Stan couldn’t shake the theory that these two things were connected, amulet and stone. He wasn’t sure why, as being found on the same day was a harmless enough coincidence. It was more of a gut feeling, rising up swiftly within his core, vying to boil over with answers he wasn’t sure he was prepared for. Not for the first time his search for the truth left him lost, yearning with feverish intensity to understand his role in fate’s turning, if fate did in fact exist. Ma, despite being a fake phone psychic, wholly believed in fanciful stuff like that. When he and Ford were kids she used to tell them how she ‘sensed they were fated to bring balance to this world.’ Stan always thought it was one of those confusing adult metaphors then, and years later brushed it aside as empty parental encouragement.

But nevertheless, playing devil’s advocate, what if? What if destiny did play a role in directing people’s actions? What if there was a reason why this amulet ended up in his possession, how it called by name? The amulet’s crystal pulsed blue, and he gripped it ever tighter. He stood at the edge of a precipice, he could sense it. If only he were as clever as his brother, maybe then he’d know how to connect these cogs together.

Ford would join him in a few minutes, though. Best then to begin his walk towards the ship.

He traversed the shore, for once not able to find comfort in the gentle breeze of sea air or the sight of endless ocean horizon his heart ached for. What if something went wrong? What if the amulet wouldn’t work around other people, and Ford thought he was making fun of him? Or what if he snitched on him for stealing it from Dad? With so many negative outcomes to consider, should he risk telling his brother in the first place?

And yet… what would happen if he chose to keep it secret? He’d never kept secrets from his twin before, never. Where Ford went he followed, and vice versa.

It was written in their DNA.


	3. Trollhunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan shows Ford the amulet for the first time. Soon after, they're greeted by some unexpected visitors in the caves.

The promise of sunset wavered along the skyline, the sun already dipping low to tease against the edge of the sea. For Stanley, this golden hour marked the end of one of the longest days of his life. Dawn practically felt like a lifetime ago.

He hopped onto deck and swung his weight around the mast, fingers delicately running over the gash left from sinking his sword into the wood early this morning. Squinting, he spotted Ford rushing down the ramshackle stairs alongside the dock, still lugging his backpack with him. Stan grinned, and waved him over. He shoved his hands in his pockets, swaying back and forth as he diligently waited for him. His brother wasn’t a fast runner by any means, but he’d give him credit- he had a truckload of endurance.

“Eyyyy, he made it!” Stan exclaimed with a dopey smile. He reached for his twin, grabbing his hand to pull him up on deck.

“All right, so you called a secret meeting,” Ford said, out of breath from running.

“Yup, I’ve got somethin’ wicked cool to show ya’.”

His eyes alighted with intrigue. “Oh, did you find new parts for the ship? A radio? Or that specific kind of rudder we’ve been looking for?”

“Something cooler,” Stan said, jumping off the craft. “But I, uh- I don’t even know what it is? Or how to rationally explain any of it…”

Ford crossed his arms with a fond smile, leaning against the post. “Okay, color me intrigued. Spill.”

“I can’t do it _here_ ,” he said, glancing nervously at the few teens still romping around on the glass peppered sand.

“ _Do?_ Do what?”

He tried to ignore how fast his brother caught onto his strange wording. “We’re goin’ to the caves, come on,” he said, gesturing for him to follow.

Ford didn’t protest or question this request, but confusion was written on his face in bold. He could tell he was deep in thought, brain desperately reaching for something relevant to ask, because he was doing that thing again… the thing where he chewed on his bottom lip while squinting upwards, the whites of his eyes on full display. According to Carla, who was nerdy enough to read psychology books cover to cover in her free time, people tended to peer up when they were trying to access memory. Honestly, he doubted his brother knew he even made this face. If he thought any harder, he’d probably bite his lip with enough force to draw blood.

He ducked under the rough splintery boards that had barricaded the cave for years. After finding it in their childhood, the watery cove quickly became his and Ford’s hangout when they wanted to spend time alone, away from Dad’s cigars and the overpowering scent of his whisky. It was a secret place, a safe haven. Not even Carla knew about it. Then again, he could count the kids who’d entered this cave on one hand. It was a deceptively short list: just himself, and Ford. Nearly five years and he’d never seen any other people exploring in there, which mildly surprised him. Weren't ‘do not enter’ signs supposed to _attract_ young troublemakers?

Ford entered after him. Once they’d reached the center, dimly illuminated by light from the cave’s mouth refracting off the pools of water, he crossed his arms, smiling wryly.

“So what’s the big secret surprise?”

“Okay, so fair warning,” he said, scratching at the back of his head, “none of this makes any sense to me whatsoever. I don’t even know _what_ this is or how it works, so… if it doesn’t work I wouldn’t blame ya’ if you thought I was just makin’ up a load of bullshit- I mean, even I’ve been wonderin’ all day if I’ve finally cracked, and-“ 

“Hey,” Ford said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. I’ll believe you.”

“Thanks,” Stan sighed in relief, genuinely glad to hear an affirmation like that from his brother. He honestly feared he’d fly off the rails crazy over this without good ol’ Sixer there to tow him back to the docks and anchor him. “Anyways, uh-“

He pulled away from his twin, slipping his hand into his back pocket. Fingers closed around the amulet and he brought it into view, crystal pulsing like a beacon on a stormy sea in the dim cave.

Ford gaped, vibrant blue light reflecting off the whites of his eyes. He hesitantly reached for the amulet. “Can I?” 

Stan nodded, relinquishing it to his hold. His brother cradled it like one would a precious gem, delicately grazing his thumb against the letters engraved around the rim, and the dials decorated with lines and whorls. The amulet appeared to take a liking to him as well, crystal pulsing gently and casting a glow on both their faces.

“I- it’s beautiful,” he uttered with spellbound reverence. “Where’d you find this?”

He reclaimed his magical object, to Ford’s disappointment. He’d have to let him ogle over it later. “I’ll explain everythin’ soon, I promise, but first I have ya’ show you somethin’.”

Knowing he’d need his space for the transformation, he took a large step backwards, and clutched the amulet in his left hand. His brother watched with bated breath. In fact, the cave soaked up so much sound that he could barely hear either of them breathing in this silence. Well, it was now or never. _Focus, Stanley_.

“For the glory of Merlin,” he recited, not even having to look at the inscription anymore, “daylight is mine to command.”

The amulet instantly responded to his desire, shooting out its magic and surrounding his limbs with its glow. Light coalesced into solid metal around him.

Ford’s jaw dropped.

“Eh? Eh?” Stan said, waggling his eyebrows. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Where on earth did you-“ he spluttered. He stepped closer and rapped on his breastplate to test the armor’s permanence, expression growing even more dumbfounded when he found it solid under his knuckles. “What is-“

“All right, so I probably owe ya’ an explanation, huh? I- I found it. Callin’ my name in some deep voice, all spooky like. And then when I first read these words around the rim, it started doin’ some weird magical shit.”

His brother crossed his arms, squinting at him with disapproval. “You found it in the shop, didn’t you? And then you set up a fake robbery so you could keep it.”

“H-how did-?”

“Observation. You called a secret meeting outside the apartment, this amulet matches the description Dad gave me this morning…”

“Okay, _fine_ , yes,” he said, throwing his hands up. “I stole it. But what else was I supposed to do? This thing literally called my name! Even I don’t go for those ‘magical destiny’ stories, but you have to admit, it’s gotta mean something? Right?”

“Well, you did evoke the name of Merlin,” Ford mused out loud, peering closer at the amulet secured in his armor.

He blinked cluelessly, trying to piece together what he was implying.

“What, are you saying- are you saying Merlin… Morgan le Fay, knights of the round table… that’s all true?”

“Potentially, seeing as this exists! I’ll have to do some research on the legends, to see if there’s any chance of details matching up. Mentions of amulets, or magical armor,” he said, fixated on his observations. He let his finger glide over the amulet’s rim, over the lettering.

“You wanna, uh, just hold it?” Stan asked. “Not gonna lie, this is kinda weird.”

“Sorry! Sorry,” his twin said sheepishly, drawing his hand back. “It’s just- beautiful. I can nearly feel the energy pulsing from it. And the carvings, these faces, they look like-“

“Your rock creatures?" 

“Exactly,” he answered, brow furrowing. “Wait, I thought you didn’t-“

Stan rolled his eyes at his doofus brother, crossing his arms. “Common, I found a magical paperweight that talks and summons armor out of thin air, and you think after all that I still wouldn’t consider the possibility? Get real,” he said with a small laugh, and mock punched at his shoulder. “Anyways, the timing is perfect. You find some weird smashed stone man on the beach, and later that day someone sells Dad this sucker?”

“We’ll have to investigate,” Ford said, eager grin slowly creeping across his face. “Now that you believe me, we could bring some of the stone segments here to study, ask around the storefront shops if there were any other eyewitnesses to the battle I saw-“

“No, this _has_ to stay between us!” he said, a bit too forcefully. His brother stepped back at his outburst, the scope of his enthusiasm folding in half. He sighed, suddenly feeling the strain of the weight pulling down on him, and wearily pressed his armored hand against his forehead. “Sorry. But we can’t just… tell everyone. If it ever gets back to Dad that I have this,” he fret, jabbing a finger towards the amulet, “he’ll flay my ass. I broke the window, Ford! How could I be so stupid?!”

“Okay, so we won’t ask around the shops.”

“We can’t tell _anyone,”_ he stressed. “Not even Carla- you of all people know how much of a gob she has. No one else can know about any of this, promise?”

He imagined his expression was serious enough that his brother was ready to take this secret to the grave. And thank goodness for that, because the last thing he wanted to deal with was his dad’s anger.

“Promise,” he nodded, holding out his hand.

Stan accepted his high-six, sealing the agreement. He cringed at the loud clap the metal gauntlets on his fingers made when they connected with his brother’s skin.

“Youch,” Ford hissed, shaking off his hand.

“Sorry,” he said. “Guess I don’t know my own strength yet. Come to think of it, I should probably show ya’ the sword-“

“Ah, there you are!” a low voice he didn’t recognize called from somewhere beyond the shadowy unknown.

Stan spun around, following the sound to its source. At the sight of six eyes glowing in the darkness, the clock-like ticking of the amulet began to echo the pace of his heart rate. He summoned the sword instantly, instinctively stepping in front of his twin.

“Master Stanley!” the creature exclaimed with nothing short of enthusiasm as he passed fully into view.

Shaken by surprise, Stan didn’t have the presence of mind to feel embarrassment at how loud he yelped at the sight of the- the _thing_. The sword dissipated from his grasp. He stumbled backwards, tripping over Ford’s feet and clutching onto his arm. And his brother, despite his deep love for the strange and unusual, had frozen entirely, face set in that same sort of primal fear he showed whenever he faced that delinquent Crampelter. The creature was tall- at least a head and a half greater than him- and gestured widely at him with all four of his stony blue arms.

“Magnificent! We have found you at last, and by blessed coincidence right on our doorstep.” The creature gestured at himself, apparently not noticing the signs of the terror that gripped them. “I am known as Blinky.”

To be honest, he was probably pressing bruises into Ford’s skin at this point with the fervor at which he clung onto him. But what was he supposed to do? Seventeen years he’d traversed these glass peppered shores, seventeen years of blissful, mundane childhood where the weirdest thing in his life was his uncanny ability to burp the alphabet in one breath, and now? He stood face to face with a six-eyed, horned stone man who very clearly called him by name. His tongue lay limp in his mouth at the sight. Apparently so did Ford’s, although at this juncture, his terror had melted into more of a cautioned wonder. Figures. His brother stood before a creature with rock for skin- a creature so tall and sturdy he could probably find a handful of creative ways to kill them in naught but a heartbeat- and his first thought was to study it like one of his prized geodes.

Meanwhile the creature’s- _Blinky’s_ \- enthusiasm never once wavered. “Ah, I see you’re both paralyzed by fear at the moment, but I assure you- I intend no harm,” he said in warmth, eyes gazing towards them in such a way that Stan almost believed what he was saying. _Almost_. “Although I must say,” he added, pointing his index finger up, “fear will serve you quite nicely in this line of duty.”

Ford pulled away from the craggy wall and crept forward, hesitance clawing at his feet.

“Ford,” Stan hissed under his breath. “ _Ford!_ No!”

His brother crossed in front of the creature, hilariously puny in comparison. “I can’t believe it. All my theories were right! You’re _real_ ,” he said, reaching out. “You’re-“

“Trolls,” Blinky completed, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. He gently nudged Ford’s hand away. “And yes, we’re as real and tangible as any of your kind.”

“Tan-joo-bill?” a rumbling voice asked.

Stan’s neck swiveled with such a force in search of the voice’s owner that he was almost surprised it didn’t snap. From the same section of the cave where Blinky emerged, two more eyes glowed. The darkness shifted, giving form to the staticky fringes of the shadows. Whatever lurked there was huge, monolithic, and covered in a wild mat of fur. He quaked in his armor. Even his brother backed away, ever sensible despite his excitement for the strange.

“Tangible,” the first troll said in explanation. “It means something is solid, able to be seen and touched.”

The armor dissipated without warning, fading into particles of blue tinted light. Stan shouted, ducking to catch the amulet before it clattered to the ground. Great, just great. The one time he actually needed it, and it bailed on him! What was with this magic?

“Wha- what d’ya even _want_ with us?” he asked, glancing between one set of eyes to the next, not sure which to place focus on. He held out the amulet, its crystal gently pulsing. “D’ya want this? Is it yours, or? I’m sorry I took it okay, you can have it back, here you go, just _please_ , please don’t ki-“

Blinky broke out in laughter. “Goodness, no! I wouldn’t dream of taking it from you! It’s yours for the keeping, bonded to you for the remainder of your life. There is much to explain, young Master Stanley, matters of grave importance.”

The other troll entered the light then, revealing large, dulled teeth (a single incisor was nearly the size of his hand!) and eyes that were surprisingly gentle for his sheer bulk. He was covered in a coat of mossy green fur. Perhaps in an apology of his earlier scare, his lips rose in a smile.

Ford- likely the bravest between them- spoke up once more. “Why do you keep referring to him as Master Stanley when none of us have ever met?”

“Uh, seconding what he said,” Stan butt in, raising his hand. “I also wonder that.”

“Ah, a pertinent question, young-“

“Ford.” 

“Stanley and Ford, Ford and Stanley,” Blinky muttered to himself, pointing between the two of them. “Pardon, I’ll try my best to keep you two straight in my mind, but you look ever so alike, more so than most humans do to me. Anyways! Where was I?”

“Purrrr-tin-ant,” the larger troll prompted.

“Ah yes! A pertinent question, Ford. Do not fear, everything shall be answered in time.”

“Okay, or how about instead of dancin’ around we cut right to the chase?” Stan said, crossing his arms. “ _Why_ are you even here?”

“Because you have been chosen- challenged, by the Amulet of Daylight, one might say-“ He pointed to the amulet in Stan’s hand- “to ascend to the most sacred of offices.”

”Offices?” he muttered, glancing at his brother in confusion. He rubbed at the rim of the magical object, the thing emitting a comfortable, rhythmic thrum.

Blinky clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing to and fro within the dim cave as he continued. “Unbeknownst to your kind there is a secret world- a vast underground civilization of trolls spread across the continent, all but hidden from view. And you, Master Stanley, have been charged by the ancestors. With possession of the amulet and the magic it wields, you are now... the Trollhunter.” The six-eyed troll beamed. Obviously he found far more exhilaration in this than anyone else did. “The honor is yours to accept!”

Stan shuffled on his feet. “Uh… _Troll-_ hunter?”

“Precisely! The mantle is an esteemed responsibility. An oath of protection.”

“And who would I be, uh- protecting, exactly?”

“Us,” the larger troll said.

“And mankind!” Blinky added.

“From bad trolls.”

“As well as goblins, gruesomes, and the occasional rogue gnome.”

"But why me?" he asked, holding up the amulet. "Why pick me? Do ya' normally find humans to do all your dirty work?"

"No, you're actually the first human to inherit this glorious mantle," the six eyed one explained, clasping his hands together. "Before, it's been passed from troll to troll for hundreds of years. This outcome," he said, gesturing at him and his brother, "is quite unexpected."

Ford shuffled where he stood, the anxiety written plain as day on his face. "If the amulet picked Stan, then what happened to the last trollhunter?" 

Stan knew all too well where his mind was going. He thought of it too. In but a single morning, two unusual things welcomed sleepy Glass Shard Beach: the stone creature smashed to pieces under the docks, and the magical amulet sold to his father in the shop. It stood to reason the two were connected in more than just coincidence.

"Was felled," the larger troll said, ears drooping. 

"Felled?"

"Means killed."

"Turned to stone and smashed," Blinky clarified, not that it made anything better. "Kanjigar the Courageous was his name. Yesterday morning he was slain by a rogue troll we do not know the name of, which is precisely why time is of the essence. We must train you, young Master Stanley, so that you may be prepared to wage battle."

“Aw, geeze,” Stan muttered, rubbing at his neck. An esteemed responsibility? Rogue trolls? The legitimate possibility of _death?_ School was already stressful enough! He didn’t have time for all of this! He grabbed at his brother’s shoulder and pulled him aside. “Come on, you gotta help me out, buddy, how do I get outta this?” he whispered.

“Couldn’t you just decline the offer?” Ford shrugged. “Give the amulet back?”

Their conversation was interrupted by the larger, mossy haired troll, who crept closer to sniff him. Stan flinched at his proximity, and his hair ruffled with the force of the suction. He peered into his wide green eyes, finding a curiosity in them.

“Uh, hello,” he said with a shy wave. 

“Aaarrrgghh,” the troll rumbled in greeting, standing tall and proud.

Stan flashed his teeth in mild amusement (and dearly hoping that- unlike baboons- this wasn’t a sign of aggression to the, erm- to the trolls.) He still hadn’t gotten any sort of vibe on this one, seeing as he spoke very little. “Arghh,” he repeated, modulating his voice to low and gravelly. “Hey, there’s somethin’ in common, I love pirates too.”

“No, not pirate,” he said, sounding halfway offended, and held up one of his stony fists to gesture at his chest. “Aaarrrgghh! Three R’s. Name.”

“My dear companion is… particular about the spelling,” Blinky said, resting a hand on the troll’s broad arm. “You’ll learn to say it correctly in time, I imagine. Now, what say you? Shall we begin your training?”

“I…”

Every single minute of this stressful encounter bore down on him in an instant, digging fingers so deep into his flesh that he simply couldn’t bear the pressure. All of it- trolls, sacred offices, magic amulets, goblins and gruesomes and long swords and-

“Aughh, I don’t even know _how_ to fight trolls, okay?!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “I’m a boxer, not a- not a swordsman! I’m only a teen. School stresses me enough already! I barely even know you, and you’re asking me to fight _your_ battles? To possibly _die?_ No. No, no. The magic stuff was cool while it lasted, but I can’t be your champion.” He strode forward and pressed the amulet into one of Blinky’s hands, mentally rejecting its presence.

Blinky’s stone brow furrowed, all six of his eyes remorseful as his fingers wrapped around the magical object.

Stan pointedly avoided his gaze, not wanting to become a dartboard for guilt. “Thanks for the offer, though,” he muttered as he turned on his heels. “Come on, Ford. We're leaving."

“But we can't just-“ his brother spluttered, and jabbed a finger towards the strange creatures they’d discovered. “They’re trolls! I have _so_ many questions, just as many theories, and- Stan? Stan!”

“You can’t give it away, you can’t merely deny it,” the six-eyed troll called after him, causing him to take pause. “It’s already bonded with you, and will remain so for the duration of your life. Master Stanley, one cannot simply deny such a sacred obligation! The amulet chose _you_.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t choose it back,” he said, refusing to change his mind now. “I- I can’t. I just can’t.”

He ignored his brother’s calling as the entrance to the cave drew near, moonlight illuminating the shards of glass strewn across the sand so that light scattered throughout them. It set the beach afire with a thousand pinpricks of pure white light. The sight was beautiful, one of his favorite things about spending nights at the ocean’s feet. Not this night, though. He slotted himself between the wooden slats half barricading the entrance, his arm scraping against the rough face of one of the boards so abrasively that he’d likely have slivers puncturing his skin. All that had occurred tonight left him fraught with trepidation, questioning what he really knew about this world. Trolls? Sacred obligation? Well, he refused. He refused to be another piece in someone’s war, drafted into some conflict he didn’t even understand. These trolls would simply have to find someone else to be their ‘trollhunter.’

The night’s solitude enveloped him mere steps away from the cave, and frustration clawing at him, he kicked at a chunk of glass. He always thought it’d be cool, playing a part in something meaningful- something larger than himself- if only to feel like his existence in this dead end town was worth anything, but not like this. Not by sacred obligation. Now more than ever, images of the open sea burned into his mind. At least the life of a sailor was a life of choices.

From his peripherals, he caught a blue glow emanating from the sand below him. In a heartbeat, he knew. He sunk his fingers into the dense sand, extracting the amulet from its resting place. Its light hummed with such an intensity that it almost felt like… like it was alive. Judging him. Waggling a finger, saying “tsk tsk tsk” perfectly aligned with its ticking tempo. He threw his head back and let out a soft, strangled laugh, cruising the impossibility of this entire situation.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he whispered.

____

 

Meanwhile, a troll with hide as black as onyx loitered under the murk of the docks, her bulky figure barely fitting between the barnacle laden posts that jut into the ground. She watched with intrigue as the boy- still so young and fleshy, as all human youth were- ducked out of the cave that obscured the entrance to the nearby troll settlement. He paused on the beach, and soon after ducking to grab something from the sand, a startlingly blue glow shone on his face. There was no questioning the origins of the latent magic he held in his grasp.

“That old fool of a wizard chose a _human_ as their champion, a mere whelp,” the troll spat. She chuckled darkly, and scraped her front claws against one of the posts of the dock, sparks shooting from her fingertips.

_“He's as good as dead.”_


	4. Bál Valdyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Stan is beginning to cool down from his last trollish revelation, he and Ford find themselves unwilling participants in a life-or-death moonlight encounter against a troll who- for whatever reason- has a fiery hatred for all trollhunters.

“Stan! Stan, wait up!”

He’d shoved his hands into his jean pockets right along with the amulet. Experimentation already proved it would stick to him eternally like pestilence to the sewers; if he punt it into the ocean, it’d return to his grasp seconds later smelling of seawater. But you know what? Fine. If he had to bury it within his belongings for the rest of his life so Dad didn’t skin him alive, then so be it.

“Thought you’d stay back with the trolls, ask a hundred thousand nerd questions,” he muttered as his twin caught up with him.

“Yeah, because leaving you and the amenities of our world forever to learn their tongue and live among them in the caves was tempting,” Ford said, sarcasm oozing off his tongue.

Stan crossed his arms, pursing his lips. “Hey!”

“But,” he continued, the mood in the air sobering, “even though it would've been an illuminating opportunity, I must be honest... The stench of their breath was a solid deal breaker.”

The night’s coastal breeze lashed at his skin, forcing his hair on end. Stan shivered in the chill, at a loss for the words to reply. Rather, his thoughts turned to all the times in their childhood he’d used that same dumb line on _Ford._ It used to be a halfhearted reassuring joke, but today it was far more than that- it was a reminder.

_"You can sit at their table instead if you want, I'll be fine alone for one day," his brother said that day in third grade when the popular crowd invited Stan into their fold, but specifically excluding him._

_He grinned, and plopped his tray on the table next to his. "Nah, did you smell their breath? Total deal breaker."_

“Come on, I’m your brother," Ford said, placing a grounding hand on his shoulder. "Do you really think I wouldn’t take your side in a situation like this?”

Pines don’t abandon Pines.

He exhaled heavily, trying to force all the lingering nerves out of his system. “Magic destiny or not, I ain’t some kid they can just enlist in their war,” he said, and kicked at the sand.

“That’s pretty much what I told them,” Ford replied.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I said that we’re young, that we’re not like them, that it’s frankly idiotic of them to march into the human world asking so much of us and expect us to automatically oblige.”

“Holy crap, Ford!” he gaped. “You really cut at ‘em! What’d they say back?”

“Eh, it was a respectful enough conversation,” he shrugged. “The six-eyed one-“

“Blinky?”

“Yes, him. He seemed kinda remorseful after I explained. He told me to tell you that- if your choice _is_ to decline- to at least keep the amulet hidden from prying eyes. And that was basically your plan anyways, right?”

Stan pulled the object in question from his pocket, bouncing it in his hand. “Y’know, it’d be so much easier if I could jus’ throw it in the bin, as cool as the armor is. Shuck it away, never have to think about weird magical destinies again. But he was right- somehow it’s bound to me. I- I can’t get rid of it. See, watch this.”

He stood on his invisible pitcher’s mound, wound up, and chucked the thing past the surf. Since it was fashioned from solid metal he couldn’t throw it as far as a baseball or a football, but he still managed a decent pitch. Ford angled his hand over his brow, tracking the amulet’s trajectory, following its arced path until it disappeared beneath the water’s surface with a splash.  

“Nice spin,” he commented, nodding in approval.

“Heh, thanks. Now watch-“

He held his palm open to the sky, and exactly as expected, a translucent sphere of light materialized in the air directly above. His skin prickled- the stimuli delivering vivid memories of that crazy lightning storm in ‘62 he and Ford snuck out to watch on the beach before Ma dragged them back inside. The amulet flashed into existence within the sphere with a resonant ring, like the fading tones of a bell. When the lingering magic energy faded it dropped, settling in his outstretched hand. He still swore it was judging him. _Stop chucking me into the water,_ it’d probably yell. That is, if it could speak in more than names.

Ford clasped his hands behind his back, and stepped forward to take another look at the amulet. “Huh,” he muttered, leveling that dang thinking face of his again.

Stan squinted. “Huh? Really? That’s all you have to say after this… this _thing_ teleported like the guys in your Galaxy Trek show?”

“Shh, no, I- I’m just thinking.”

“Like you always do. There's practically steam pourin' outta your ears, poindexter.”

“Hush!”

He heaved a sigh, watching in boredom as Ford stared at the amulet and pondered it. Who knew how much actual insight could be gleaned from this. Call him doubtful, but he was pretty confident he’d pondered it dry this morning.

“Any brilliant thoughts?” he asked eventually, growing restless under the light of the moon. Visions of his cozy bottom bunk and his hoard of pillows phased through his mind.

“Just one. So far, you’ve only been throwing it away, yes?”

He confirmed by nod.

“Have you considered having it _taken_ away from you?”

“But what good would that do if it always comes back?” he protested, waving it in his brother’s face. “Let’s face it, I’ll be stuck with this damned thing fore-“

A cascading rumble from behind shook the ground. The vibrations of the force shot through his bones, powerful enough to nearly knock him onto his ass. Meanwhile, Ford’s features twisted in fear. Blood drained from his face, leaving his skin palid. Jaw quivering with unvocalized terror, he pointed to a locale in space beyond Stan. Still clutching the amulet, Stan slowly turned on his heels, following the line of his finger.

“Uh, Ford? What’s-“

His gaze dropped on the hulking beast crouched on hind legs, lumbering directly towards them with a menacing sneer set into their stony face. The troll was just as massive- if not more so- than the largest of the two he met in the caves. They slammed their fists into the ground and roared.

“Holy-!” he yelped, nearly fumbling the amulet in his shock.

 

* * *

 

“Why in all the realms did Merlin choose a human to inherit the mantle of trollhunter if that human then refuses the call?” Blinky pondered vociferously, pacing to and fro with Aaarrrgghh his only audience. His topmost hands gestured outwards, desperately reaching for answer. “There’s no precedence for any of this! It’s unthinkable! No one summoned has ever refused!”

“Not troll,” Aaarrrgghh gently reminded, eyes tracking his movement within the cave with a soulful understanding.

“Yes, yes, yes, I know he’s not a troll!” he snapped, his stress finally spilling over. Instantly, waves of remorse billowed within him for raising his voice at his dear companion. He sighed, pressing a hand against the ridge of his brow. “But like it or not, the amulet has decided to cross the bridge, to link two worlds previously kept separate. I suppose… one mustn’t blame him for fearing such a daunting responsibility. After all, even grown trolls have shaken with trepidation at their initial calling.”

His pacing picked up once more, short staccato steps to match both the diminutive length of his legs and the crescendo of his panic.

“What on earth are we to do about the amulet, though,” he continued, “if he’s not to accept? Reject his role he may, but it’s not like he can completely disaffiliate himself with it, at least, not until the passing of his death. And what then? How will our world function without that amulet? Without a trollhunter as protector? And what will their response be when they learn why, when they learn it’s stuck indefinitely in the hands of a human?”

Aaarrrgghh rose on his haunches and shifted so he blocked Blinky’s path, forcing him to pause and think. “Only had one talk,” he said. “We try later." 

The tension grinding in his mind eased. As always, his dear friend was right. As much as he hated admitting a situation was out of his control, he’d accomplished all he could. Now, the decision-making was solely in the hands of that human boy. For all his worries, the way of Merlin’s magic had proven most mysterious over the centuries. Hope lingered yet. He sighed, leaning into the soft bristly hair of Aaarrrgghh’s mane.

“You’re right, of course. There’s still the chance he’ll come around.”

The larger troll nudged the top of Blinky’s head with his chin. “Blinky worries too much.”

 

* * *

 

“Trollhunter!” the onyx black troll snarled, causing Stan to hide the amulet behind him. They crept closer with each passing second. “Your existence is a blight, and I have come to unmake you!”

“Not very subtly,” Ford muttered, finding his voice again even in the face of fear.

“Subtle or not, I kinda don’t want to _die_ today,” Stan hissed under his breath, taking another step back. “What the hell are we gonna do?”

“The caves!” he said, eyes blowing wide. “On my count, we make a run for the caves.”

“Are you crazy?? Do you see those legs, we can’t outrun those!”

“Three.”

“Ford, damnit! _Ford!”_

“Two…”

The troll snapped two of their claws against each other, sparking a white hot fire in their hand. A guttural growl came from deep in their throat.

“Oh, crap! Run, run!” he shouted, shoving his brother into motion. “Just fucking run!”

Following suit with his own wise advise, Stan broke into the fastest sprint he’d ever maintained, faster than the year he tried out for the track team, faster than all the times dire circumstances forced him to evade wedgies and beatings from Crampelter, even faster than the year he tried to wear a Groucho Marx mask to his bar mitzvah and his father furiously chased him out of the temple. As life or death as those situations seemed then, they paled in comparison to the fatal beating he’d receive if he couldn’t reach the cave in time. His muscles burned, perhaps phantom pains transmitted from the incoming future where that monster scorched him to a crisp and pummeled him into the sand. Still keeping his breakneck pace, he glanced behind for one passing moment and felt instant regret. The troll charged across the beach on all fours with such vigor that there was no way they’d reach the cave’s safety before the monster caught up. His eyes widened. In desperation he tried to push himself harder, but his heart pounded at a tempo so extreme he knew he’d reached his limit.

Ford cried out in distress, and Stan looked back just in time to watch him trip and collapse to the ground. The perpetrator- a littered beer can abandoned near his feet- leered mockingly. His brother hissed, and clutched his forearm to his chest. Blood trickled from a small gash. _Puncture wound_ , he realized, seeing the glass shards strewn through the sand. Their ma always warned them not to romp on the beach at night without a flashlight, and this was why. The troll chuckled darkly as they approached the elder Pines twin, reigniting their fist. The fire cast their angular features in shades of orange and gold.

Against every instinct of survival that screamed otherwise, Stan turned course and charged across the shore towards his brother, heart running double-time. Loose sand slipped out from under his feet, stripping away what little traction he could find. The amulet in his pocket ticked with persistence, causing the world surrounding to play out in disjointed snapshots. _Reach Ford. Save Ford._ His mind was void of much else.

Just as his fingers wrapped around the amulet, the troll drew their arm back.

“For the glory of Merlin, daylight is mine to command!” he shouted in one breath, and pushed himself off the balls of his feet. The armor pieced itself together in fractions of a second as he passed in front of Ford, fitting flush to his skin.

He yelled as the troll’s fiery fist collided with his chest with unimaginable force. If that armor wasn’t there, there’s no telling the damage it would’ve done. But the grooves in his breastplate flared blue, the hit merely launching him a number of yards. Hs body tumbled across the sand. He felt the impact in his ribs but knew that somehow, miraculously, he was unbroken and not burned.

“Ford,” he wheezed, pushing himself up on his forearms. A distance away, his brother scrambled backwards on hands and feet.

“Pathetic _whelp_ ,” their enemy hissed, spitting into the sand. They distinguished their flame, and extracted a longsword from the scabbard strapped across their broad shoulders. Moonlight glinted against its surface. Stan swore he saw rusted blood staining its sharpest edge.

“Ford, get up! _Get up!_ ” he screamed at the top of his lungs, rising to his knees. “Get to the caves! NOW!”

Ford rolled out of trajectory the precise moment the troll swung, his leg missing the blade by mere inches. In a burst of pure life-or-death adrenaline, he shot to his feet and made a run for it, exiting the sphere of immediate danger. Stan sighed a breath of relief. His own life, however, was still very much on the line. He let out a string of increasingly despairing curses under his breath the closer that monolithic beast lumbered. While he hissed at the soreness in his limbs, he eventually managed to find his bearings and stand again. His eyes turned to his enemy.

“I’ve watched you,” the troll said lowly, dragging their sword behind them. The tip collided with scattered shards of glass bottles, the sound nearly melodious. “Give up! You don’t even want to be trollhunter!”

 _Yeah, and right now I also don’t want to die!_ he thought. He pressed his mind towards an image of the amulet’s own sword, and in immediate response it manifested out of light in his hand. His wrist wavered. Its weight was still foreign to him. Nonetheless, he wrapped his fingers securely around the grip.

“Well you shouldn’t have tried to kill my brother then, because a troll _hunter_ is what you’re gonna get.”

With a mighty war cry he lifted his sword to the stars. The troll’s own blade clashed against his, sparks mixing with blue magic. The weapons made contact a number of times, as Stan defended himself from their strikes. They attempted to slash at his neck, one of the few spots his armor didn’t cover. With a yelp he stumbled backwards. Geeze! If he hadn’t moved so quickly they’d have sliced him into ribbons! His arms burned with exhaustion, but he knew there was no pausing this encounter. Whatever happened now determined his fate.

Yelling, he darted towards them to levy another attack. He channeled all of his strength into his swing. His leading foot dug into the ground. As if child’s play, the troll blocked his sword with their own, the metal colliding with such force that it knocked the hilt’s grip right out of his hands. It flung through the air, runic engravings glowing.

“No!” he cried, his whole body reaching in futile desire. His opponent sneered, their blade rushing horizontal. He crouched into a deep squat, just barely avoiding having his head lobbed clean off.

 _“Stanley!”_ Ford shouted from a distance away, likely the caves. He would have turned to confirm his safety, but he was a little… preoccupied at the moment.

“Master Stanley!” Blinky’s voice this time. “You must pick up your sword!”

“I’d love to, but I’m a little busy not dying!” he grunted. “Whoa!” He dove to the sand, tumbling out of range of the longblade to avoid being turned into minced human. The assault just kept coming and coming, the troll wielding their weapon like a third limb.

Finding an opening, Stan launched himself to his feet, eyeing the sword stuck upright in the sand feet some away. Once more he sprinted for his life. He fought the temptation to look behind, instead digging into the burn in his thighs, into the clinking of metallic armor joints against one other. The troll roared with fury, and chased after him on all fours.

 

* * *

 

“Help him!” Ford cried, tugging at one of Blinky’s arms in desperation. “You’ve gotta help him, one of you!”

The troll in question clammed up at the summons, eyes blowing wide.

“Me? I’m no fighter!” he said, gesturing at himself from four angles.

“But you said you were going to train Stanley!”

“And _training_ is quite a deal different than fighting on the field. With my lack of experience outside the Forge, I’d only hinder Master Stanley’s survival, not aid in it!” 

With a huff, Ford diverted his attention from the current argument to hobble to the cave’s boarded entrance and check on his twin, who was closing in on his sword. Stan’s hair was slicked back with the sheen of sweat, the lumbering beast hot in pursuit. Ford ground his fingers into tight fists as he watched, his nails digging into his palms. He’d help himself, but… considering he’d already succeeded in slicing his arm on glass, he’d messed enough up already, hadn’t he?

“Well, what about him?” he said, pointing at Aaarrrgghh. Surely such an intimidating, burly troll would have the power to take on a single foe in comba-

“Ah, he’s not a fighter either,” Blinky jumped in.

“Pacifist,” Aaarrrgghh clarified, folding into himself slightly as if in apology.

“That’s-“ Before he could continue his thought, Ford paused, genuinely brought to speechlessness by this knowledge. These trolls never ceased to surprise, now didn’t they? Any lingering anger he felt about the situation fizzled away. “-an unfortunate waste of a hulking brute," he muttered under his breath.

“Thank you,” the large troll rumbled, picking up on his words anyways.

Outside, the clash of metal against metal rang loud. Ford glanced through the boarded up slats closing off the entrance and back to Aaarrrgghh, a new determination set in his features.

“But surely  _rescuing_ people wouldn't go against a pacifist's code of conduct, right?" 

 

* * *

 

Before this fateful encounter, Stan had never paused to consider acrobatics as a potential life calling. (A heartbeat before his enemy’s sword would have cleaved him in two, he dove to the sand, tumbling away in a mass of lanky, armored limbs. A far reach from elegant.) But as he picked up the hilt of his sword, standing face to face with a literal monster like the ones on his movie posters, he suddenly regret not accepting his mom’s childhood offer to take a class or two. Or, hell, a fencing class. Surely this wasn’t the proper way to hold a sword, right?

He yelled as he moved his sword to block their strike, his lungs expanding comfortably within the protection of the chest plate. Their barrage of hits drove him back, each one spiking vibrations up his arms. His feet moved like lightning, arcing sporadically across the sand. As the troll lifted their sword to deal another attack, he risked a glimpse at the caves, now a fair jog away. That sneak! The whole time, they were deliberately pushing him away from his one chance at survival! His heart hammered faster, his eyes tracing their every move for a moment to rise up. The sword in his grasp burned an electrifying blue.

This time, when the rim of their blade wound back, he was ready for it. He easily ducked to avoid the blow. Then- in the coolest feat of physical activity he’d ever attempted in his seventeen years- he spun a tight circle with the sword in hand and managed to strike a graze to their exposed midsection, completely catching them off guard. For a fraction of a moment, they took pause to inspect the damage he’d wrought. The area of hide his sword touched glowed before solidifying into a scar of stone. In response, his adversary’s eyes flared with such a heated fury that he almost bolted to avoid melting on the spot. 

“ENOUGH!”

They swiped at his knees, throwing off his balance and knocking him to the ground. They raked their claws against one another again, igniting sparks. Just as Stan tried to scuttle back onto his feet, the troll slashed their fiery fists across the shore, the flames spreading to the sand behind him. With an impenetrable wall of fire blocking his only escape route, he was at the beast’s mercy. Now, maybe he didn’t possess the same scientific prowess as his brother, but regardless he _was_ pretty confident that sand shouldn’t… do that. Sand wasn’t flammable! His enemy sneered and pressed their sword against his neck, only stopped by his own blade. He ground his teeth together, pushing back with all his strength. The engravings in his breastplate illuminated in sync with the depths of his distress. _Then again,_ he thought mirthfully, _magical troll fighting armor shouldn’t exist either._ So here he was, right back at square one. From now on, if something didn’t make sense he’d just assume it was magic. But best to dwell on that later, when he wasn’t busy _almost dying._

“I’ve always despised Merlin’s champions,” they growled lowly, Stan struggling to keep the edge of his own sword from digging into his jugular, “but not as much as I despise you, _filth!_ A human trollhunter is an insult to all trollkind. Your lineage isn’t worthy to wield such powerful magic!”

He swallowed hard, the pressure against his sore arms threatening to buckle them. This was it, wasn’t it? The tale of his tragic demise. Killed, by his own sword. Funny, he always longed for some swashbuckling adventure in his life, but it seemed he was never destined to survive it. _I’m sorry, Ford. Love ya. Definitely hope twin ESP is real, because-_

A caterwauling roar from above nearly caused his eardrums to pop. But unlike his enemy’s battle cry, it occurred to him that this one masked itself in tones of challenge rather than rage. He gawked in amazement as a furious Aaarrrgghh crashed into the scene- Ford clinging onto his mane- and rammed headfirst into his foe so hard they tumbled across the sand like nothing more than a paperweight. Relieved his blade was no longer in threat of jabbing into his Adam’s apple, he gasped, rubbing at his neck. Tears ran down his grime covered cheeks in rivulets.

“Ford!” he said in relieved laughter as he staggered to his feet. “I thought I told you to run away, ya’ fool!” 

“Well, I’m here to report you said no such thing,” his twin said, his eyes twinkling with something akin to mischief. Smiling, Ford gave Aaarrrgghh an affectionate pat, to which he hummed in appreciation.

“She still not down,” the troll warned, nodding towards the imposing figure across the beach, vying to stand once more.

“Wait, _she?”_

“Follow!” he commanded, and took off into a galloping sprint towards the caves.

Stan struggled to keep up. The adrenaline coursing through his veins had already begun to take its toll, and as a result his muscles felt like jelly. His breath came in heaving gasps.

“Stanley! Take my hand!” his brother shouted, reaching as far down as he could manage without falling off the troll.

He stretched his arm out, fingers brushing against his brother’s. It was no use, they were racing too far ahead, too fast… Panic racing through his heart, he once again made the rookie mistake of looking back, just for a second.

One second too long.

The beast was right on his tail, face contorted into a terrifying snarl. Her fangs glistened in the ambient light. Just when he foolishly thought this night couldn’t get any worse, while distracted his armored foot connected against something solid. A glass bottle, beached upright like a bloated whale on the shore. He yelped, slamming his eyes shut as he listed forward, preparing himself internally for his untimely end. But time did not stop. Instead of coarse sand rushing up to greet him, he was caught by what he could only imagine was a warm stone hand. The hand slung him onto soft tresses, which he immediately wound around his wrists like lifelines. Wind whipped wildly through his hair, and he opened his eyes to affirm the identity of his rescuer.

Clinging onto Aaarrrgghh’s wild mane next to him, Ford laughed in triumph. “Hah! Gotcha!”

He beamed. If they weren’t moving across the beach at such an expedient pace, he would’ve let go of the mane to give him the most bone crushing hug possible. Once more, he allowed his eyelids to flutter shut, reveling in the sensation of that familiar cool ocean spray dusting his cheeks. This whole evening had been frustrating, _terrifying_ , and yet paradoxically he’d never felt more invigorated in his life.

“She’s still gaining on us,” Ford shouted, shattering whatever momentary spell he’d been held under.

“What?”

Clutching even tighter to the thick wefts of hair wrapped around his wrists, he swiveled his body so he could catch a glimpse of the fire wielding beast, who- just as promised- was close enough to put them at threat of becoming a projectile target.

“I said, she’s gaining on us!”

“No shit, Ford!”

“We’re not going to make it!”

“No, you _live!”_ Aaarrrgghh declared, and with a heavy huff pressed himself to sprint even faster.

The shape of the rock formations before them blossomed in detail with each passing second. He caught a glimpse of the moon reflected in the tide pool’s deepest reservoirs, of thick layers of barnacles coating the lowest reaches of the rock face. On any other night he’d pause to admire the view and maybe terrorize a few crabs, but in this moment he regarded the sight with nothing less than sheer horror. The boarded up cave entrance the twins usually slid through sat a few hundred yards to their left. Aaarrrgghh expressed no intent to slow down.

“What are you doing, we’re gonna crash into the cave wall!”

“No we won’t,” Aaarrrgghh said, increasing his pace once more. 

Stan yelped as he leapt over the narrow shoal at the perimeter of the tide pools, struggling to hang on. The troll’s lungs (trolls had those, right??) rose and fell in rough staccato rhythm under his stone hide. The wall rushed towards them. He threw his arm over his face, practically praying to the amulet’s maker that this armor would protect him.

But contact never came.

Instead, they literally phased _through_ the crags he assumed would be his doom, and into the very cave where they met these trolls in the first place. He looked back, seeing nothing but the wall he expected. With a resonating clash, something collided with the opposing side. His enemy. Small scraps of stone fell from the ceiling as they continued to pound. Aaarrrgghh slid to a halt next to a worried Blinky, and tilt his shoulder to allow the brothers an easy route to climb off. Not wasting a second, the green haired troll galloped across towards the wall and drew an X across the boulder’s face. Stan’s brow shot up, watching with awed intrigue as the rock lit up blue under his touch, identical to the glow of his amulet.

The enemy on their doorstep rammed into the natural barrier three more times before- to the best of their knowledge- giving up. Stan groaned in fatigue, sliding down to sit on a stone outcropping. He buried his face in his hands. As if his subconscious mind had flicked a light switch immediately following the battle, the armor faded back into light, dropping the amulet in his lap. Ford, ever so skilled with social cues, gave him a stiff pat on the shoulder.

"You're hurt," Stan said to him quietly, nodding towards his arm.

"I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm _fine,_ Stan," he protested, ever so stubbornly. "It's not even deep. I'll take care of it when we get back to the apartment."

He blew a frustrated stream of air through his lips, knowing there was no use arguing with his twin once he decided he was 'fine.'  "Okay, if that's what you think, then-"

“Hah, well done! First altercation, and you didn’t die!” Blinky said as he crossed over, clasping his four hands in pairs. _Again- social cues. Oh, Ford would get along just fine with this one, wouldn’t he?_ “You’ll make a great trollhunter yet. That is, if you decide to accept this mantle after all.” He cleared his throat then, stubby fingers tapping against each other. “I, ah- apologize if I seemed… overly zealous about this earlier. Thanks to your brother’s insight, I understand now how it would be frustrating to have no say in the matter.”

 He nodded. “I appreciate that.”

“Amulet’s choice or not,” he continued, slowly closing the gap between them, “ultimately, you trace your own path through this world. Destiny can guide your steps, nurture you, even challenge you, but it cannot change who you know you are meant to be.” He placed a solid hand on his shoulder. Stan glanced from that unusual, four fingered hand (an anomaly, much like his brother) towards the troll’s face, surprisingly earnest in all its crags and creases. “Don’t doubt yourself, Master Stanley,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. “For the answers you seek come from within.”

“That rock face, it’s skewed perception!” Ford interrupted, meticulously sliding back into World’s Biggest Nerd mode regardless of the fact they nearly died a few minutes ago.

He blinked owlishly. _“Huh?”_

His brother merely jabbed his pointer finger at the ground in response, at a smear of reflected moonlight in the stagnant water that- now that he stopped to think about it- was definitely out of place. “I just realized. There’s no crevasses in this rock face that moonlight could pass through. Ergo, this isn’t a cave at all, it’s a cove! Just… concealed, somehow.”

“Astute logic!” Blinky said. “And you're absolutely correct. It’s a hidden passage, to allow trolls a secure route to the surface. We seal them with a magic that thwarts any individual of malicious intent from crossing over. Also, to shield our doorways from scrying human eyes. I still wonder how you two managed to enter here tonight without foreknowledge of it in the first place.”

“We’ve just... played in this cave for years,” Stan shrugged.

“Have you, now? That’s curious. Humans shouldn’t be able to glimpse past our barriers, unless- hmmm, no. That couldn’t be.”

“If this has been a troll passageway all along, how come we’ve never noticed anything awry?” Ford asked, picking up a small stone from the ground. He bounced it in his hand, and then began rubbing his thumb against the smoothed edge.

The two trolls peered at each other as if approached with a quandary that was set to restructure their very understanding of life.

“Ah, well you see-“ Blinky began, though it was clear even he didn’t know what he planned to say.

“Good hiders?” Aaarrrgghh suggested, rejoining the group. The edge of his lip turned up sheepishly. He motioned to his friend with a tilt of his head, and the two of them promptly turned away for a moment to speak in private. Even still, Stan heard every word he said. The large troll didn’t exactly have any concept of indoor voice. “Blinky, bad news about foe," he said. "Killer of Kanjigar is Korsiva, Corpse Scalder.”

His six eyed companion gasped, his ears raising. “Oh, this is very poor news indeed.”

“Why?” Ford asked, still mindlessly fidgeting with the rock. “Who is she?”

Blinky clasped his hands together, glancing solemnly between the brothers. “Korsiva Nár Skáldiris, the Corpse Scalder. The very best of our enemy’s generals, so fearsome in her prime that she wove herself into the annals of troll legend as a harbinger of death.”

“Wields fire,” the green haired troll said.

“Yeah, I saw her doin’ that on the beach, using it as a weapon! She snapped her fingers, and her whole first ignited!”

“Precisely, Master Stanley. Long ago, she implanted flint and steel in her claws to give herself this ability. And even you humans have your names for her. In the Norse tongue, she’s known as Bál Valdyr. Translates to ‘fire wolf.' They thought she was a massive black wolf, the steed of the goddess of death. And alas, anyone who tread close enough to realize her true nature surely perished.”

Stan groaned, tipping his head back. "Great, just great. So you're saying I've got a literal warlord out to murder me now."

"And likely your brother too, with association to a trollhunter," Blinky added, his voice concerningly chipper. 

"You trolls have no sense of bedside manner, do you?"

"Bedside manner? What in Deya's name do you mean by-? Eh, but no matter. Come, this way," he beckoned, gesturing to all in the group. "We should escort you underground for now, for security's sake." He reached into one of the pockets sewn to the side of his pants (truth be told, Stan was still reeling from the knowledge that some trolls _wore_ pants) and retrieved a thick violet crystal, affixed to a handle. "The horngazel," he explained, lifting it to the rock face and starting to draw a semi-circle. "Think of it as a key to our subterranean world."

Once he completed the doorway, Aaarrrgghh slammed his fist into the center of it, causing the stone to fragment like the shattered glass window of the Pines family pawn shop. The cracks flared as they stretched wider, opening into a swirling, mesmerizing portal. Stan and Ford gawked at the sight. Blinky returned the key to his pockets, and jolted them to attention with twin claps on the back. 

"Well, don't just stand there bewitched like a troll to static," he said. "Follow me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question for you readers- I've started to write little small tidbits of events in the FAR future of this AU for fun. Such as- interactions between Jim and the grunkles, and stuff dealing with Dipper and Mabel's misadventures (who, for future reference- and you'll see why as I continue this story- are half changeling.) Would any of you be interested in seeing some of these posted as one-shots or short fics? In a perfect world I'd want to write EVERYTHING I've plotted for this AU, but I know that likely won't happen, so bouncing around this timeline- and maybe providing a guide for how this timeline works so everyone can understand how things fit together- is kinda my happy medium. 
> 
> Is this something people would be interested in? Lemme know in the comments! Thank you once more for all your love and support! 
> 
> I will be posting wips and thoughts/answering any questions about this AU on my blog the-twin-trollhunters.tumblr.com <3


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